You working men of 
England one moment now attend 
While I unfold the treatment of the poor upon this land 
For nowadays the factory lords have brought the labour low 
And daily are contriving plans to prove our overthrow 
So arouse! 
You sons of freedom! 
The world seems upside down 
They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town 
There's different parts in 
Ireland, it's true what 
I do state 
There's hundreds that are starving for they can't get food to eat 
And if they go unto the rich to ask them for relief 
They bang their door all in their face as if they were a thief 
So arouse! 
You sons of freedom! 
The world seems upside down 
They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town 
Alas how altered are the times, rich men despise the poor 
And pay them off without remorse, quite scornful at their door 
And if a man is out of work his 
Parish pay is small 
Enough to starve himself and wife, his children and all 
So arouse! 
You sons of freedom! 
The world seems upside down 
They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town 
So to conclude and finish these few verses 
I have made 
I hope to see before it's long men for their labour paid 
Then we'll rejoice with heart and voice and banish all our woes 
Before we do old 
England must pay us what she owes 
So arouse! 
You sons of freedom! 
The world seems upside down 
They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town